


Ice Wine

by winter_rogue



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Always-a-girl!Stiles, F/M, Genderfuck, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:17:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_rogue/pseuds/winter_rogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She maintains that the first time was totally an accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Wine

**Author's Note:**

> whoa, wrote 1k on my big bang story and then this came tumbling out of me. written for a fill over at the [teen wolf kink](http://teenwolfkink.livejournal.com/7250.html?thread=6557266#t6557266) meme. (link should take you to the original prompt)
> 
> It's implied but I want to make sure it's clear that Stiles and Derek have started hooking up sometime between the "first time" and the "second" so everything here is totally consensual.

The first time it happened was totally an accident. 

But about a year after the alpha pack fiasco and finally putting an end to Gerard for good, Beacon Hills experienced the coldest winter anyone had seen in northern California in fifty years. That might not sound very cold, I mean, how cold is really cold in northern California after all? But this was like, extreme weather warnings and blizzard closings, minus 10F and then minus 20F, and snow until the whole town disappeared under a relentless white blanket. Smothered.

So the first time, late in November, they got caught out in a freak snow storm and at that point it really was pretty freaky but they didn’t know until weeks later that it heralded something ancient and sinister. And she was pretty damn grateful for Derek’s unerring wolfy sense of direction that meant they were wandering around in the sudden whiteout for only half an hour instead of _until they both literally froze to death._

The Sheriff had been out, so Stiles didn’t have to explain what she was doing, all but falling through the front door a little after one in the morning with blue lips and Derek Hale in tow. Small mercies. And it meant she didn’t have to explain how they ended up in her bed cu-- shivering! together for warmth, what felt like every blanket in the Stilinski residence piled on top of them.

Heaven forbid Derek Hale be anything resembling practical. Alpha werewolves didn’t need just pathetic things like gloves. Or winter jackets.

“Holy crap what is that!” Stiles-- okay, she could admit it, she squeaked but _damn_ those were some cold--

“It’s my hand Stiles, will you please hold still?” she could imagine Derek grinding his teeth in the dark.

She wasn’t dead. She was a healthy almost seventeen year old girl and Derek Hale was hot. He was also kind of terrifying, an idiot on any given day, and grumpy ninety-five perfect of the time. It was enough to weigh down the hotness factor most days, if she were being honest. Half naked and freezing to death in her bed after narrowly avoiding a freak blizzard, was not most of the time. Trying to stick his broad, long fingered hand up the front of her tank top was not _most of the time._

“Rude,” she muttered and groped blindly for his wrist in the dark. They struggled comically with each other’s limbs for a minute before she managed to redirect his-- _jesus h. christ_ \-- ice block hands between her thankfully flannel covered knees.

“There, leave them there.” Derek was hot, ha fucking ha, but he was also a major pain in her ass.

So, the first time was totally an accident.  


#  


The next winter, the freaky snow storms came back and this time they knew what the weather meant.

Stiles maintained the second time was totally an accident. Yeah.

 

“Fucking Krampus,” she was barely even seventeen anymore, she was not a child. And she wasn’t naughty! If anyone deserved to be hauled away in Evil Santa’s Bag of Death, it was totally Jackson. Stupid mythological figures who apparently followed Californian age of consent laws, _really_.

Because right then, Stiles would have given just about anything to be eighteen and safe at home and warm. Her life being, well, her life, instead she and Derek were once again struggling through a howling north wind in the middle of the woods. She could feel how cold he was through her badly knit fingerless mittens-- the human’s only stitch & bitch maybe have been her idea but it didn’t mean she actually knew what she was doing.

“Stiles!” Derek growled, jerking on her hand.

She tripped in the dark, barely catching herself on the slick, frozen leather of his jacket. “What?” she whispered back furiously.

“Be. _quiet_. The last thing we need is for it to catch us out here in the open.” About every other word was lost in the wind, snatched right out of Derek’s angry looking mouth but she got the gist of it just fine. Then he was hauling her quickly away away _away_.

Stiles honestly didn’t notice they’d made it to the rebuilt Hale house until they were already stumbling inside. Everyone was out, buddied up for the night (why she got Derek as a buddy-- okay, she knew why. Shut up, their... _thing_ wasn’t serious).

Thank god Derek had finally managed to put a new roof on the old place. It was still only sparsely furnished and the walls were boring white, just begging for a crazy eclectic paint job to go with the victorian-esque moldings, but there was central heating and wi-fi and working plumbing. Derek shed his frozen outer layer with one hand and turned the thermostat all the way up with the other. Normally, he and Isaac kept the place pretty chill, perks of being natural radiators (aka werewolves).

Stiles hovered awkwardly, waiting for her body to defrost enough to actually start dripping on the hardwood.

“Come on, you can’t--” Derek, master of the English language that he was, didn’t bother finishing his thought, just looped a hand in her sodden hoodie and lead the way up to his bedroom.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been there.

They helped each other out of their snow stiff clothes, leaving puddles of water between the top of the stairs and the master bedroom, until they stripped down to their skivvies. Stiles couldn’t stop the violent shiver the arched through her entire body as she slid gracelessly between Derek’s sheets.

“I say we kill it.”

“Him.”

“Whatever. I live in northern California for a reason. If I wanted to wear long johns every winter I’d move to the Yukon.” She winced a little as Derek slid in behind her, his skin ice cold against her own. “Jesus-- don’t you dare put--” she intercepted his hands before they could touch her, biting the bullet and forcing them down south instead. “I thought we discussed this last time.”

Derek tucked his head in the warm space where her neck and shoulder met and curled tightly against her, damp but warming slowly. He rumbled something unintelligible, stroking slowly at her inner thigh. Stiles couldn’t stop the shiver, but this time she really didn’t care to stop it. His fingers and palm were soft, and creeping up higher, just stopping at the edge of her plain, cotton undies.

“Derek.”

“Stiles,” he licked into her skin, tongue shockingly hot against her neck and ear, lips nipping sharply at the lobe until she squirmed, rubbing her legs together and then relaxing back into him.

“Well,” she cleared her throat, “well, I guess that’s one way of warming up.” She almost swore that felt like a smile against her skin.

Okay, the second time might not have been all that innocent after all.

He teased at the edge of her underwear, silently urging her to relax her legs enough that he had a bit of space to work, until her back was flush and resting against his warm chest. Stiles gasped as one long, cool finger worked the worn fabric down and out of the way. She was hot and slick already, the hottest place on her body and Derek found it like a fucking heat seeking missile.

“Oh god,” she moaned a little and arch back, giving him easier access to get between her dripping lips. He worked a coupe tight, perfect circles around her clit, fast and too much and not enough and he shifted lower. Stiles bit down hard on her lower lip and arched her pelvis into the touch. He worked first one then two fingers into her, easy, almost lazy, flirting with her entrance and keeping just enough pressure on her clit with the meat of his palm.

Stiles worked her hips in tight, jerky counterpoint. The little bursts of sensation were like bright gold sparks behind her closed eyes and she knew she was moaning pretty shamelessly at this point, running her mouth and working herself on Derek’s hand while he breathed harsh and wet into her shoulder. She knew he was watching everything, that if she turned and looked she’d meet coal bright alpha eyes in the dark.

Between one breath and the next Derek rolled them so that she was lying almost flat on his chest, splayed out like something ridiculous, like a beached turtle. His fingers working steadily at her hot, swollen pussy and Stiles’s running a stream of filth from her mouth, breaking off into harsh breathless pants.

“Fuck. Der--ek! Oh, god, fuck.” She had almost no leverage like that. She let her head fall back, barring her throat and smiling at the way it made him growl, the subsonic vocal vibrating through her hot skin. They were definitely warm now.

Derek reached up with his other hand and got a thumb back on her clit, working both hands in counterpoint until she was a whimpering, jerking mess on top of him, thighs clenching around his hands as she came hoarsely.

Stiles watched, lethargically, just enough light coming in through the parted curtains to illuminate his hand as he trailed it up over her belly and sucked his fingers into his mouth right next to ear.

“You’re right,” he whispered, low, “this way is much better.”

end


End file.
